First Date Jitters
by socks-lost
Summary: Jane picks Maura up for their first date. One-shot.


**A/N: **Originally posted to tumblr because I didn't have a title. This was a sort of practice run for something else I wrote.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own these characters, am not making money off of this.

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Maura is nervous. And that word isn't even enough to describe the twitch in her body, not enough for the darting of her eyes. She's pacing and she's spinning the ring around her finger like her life depends on it, like in just one more twist she won't be so painstakingly anxious.

Jane is picking her up on a date. And it feels like – _she_ feels like that time after she passed her exams and was applying to medical schools and the board in front of her asked her why she wanted to be a doctor, why they should choose her over the next person. And she froze.

Now, as she paces in her kitchen she is two seconds away from freezing, from choking. And she means those words in abstract terms not the literal which is strange, but before she can ask herself when her mind started to work in metaphors and figures of speech her doorbell rings.

She sighs, rubs her eyes, and takes what's meant to be a very determined step forward with her shoulders square but ends up being a heart-in-her-throat leap of faith on unsteady legs. She opens the door.

And she loses her breath immediately, loses her mind as well. And _wow. _

"You're wearing a dress." She has to say it to believe it and Jane raises an eyebrow at her ridiculousness. Maura can't say she blames her, but Jane is wearing a dress and the whole world should know. She looks like a supermodel.

She has seen this woman in sweats and shorts and hospital gowns. She has seen this woman after dates with men she didn't care for, after arrests when she's wearing dirty, wrinkled clothing and a smirk. She has seen this woman undress in gym locker rooms, lounging on her couch in tank tops, doing yoga in sports bras, in the glow of florescent light and moonlit crime scenes. She has seen her eyes piercing in anger, in care, in kindness, in love.

She has seen this woman.

But in this moment, it's seeing her all over again. And it's not just the dress or the heels or the product in her hair or the makeup on her face. It's just Jane. It's all of these parts that connect the whole, like paint by number and connect the dots. She is like a child's coloring book coming to life in odd colors that blur outside of the lines, beautiful in ways that are completely unexpected.

And _wow. _

Words, language, and diction. She has degrees. She has smarts. She knows three languages other than English fluently. She is a certified genius. But _wow _is all she has on her tongue.

Jane shifts uncomfortably in her heels. She knew this was stupid. The sales lady (and her mother) fawned over her in this dress at the store. They _oohed _and _awed _and she caved. But now her best friend is just staring at her. Her _date_ is just gaping at her, blinking. And she feels a little stupid. "You know, I uh I have a suit in the car, I can change."

Hazel eyes snap to hers. "What?"

Jane looks down at the deep maroon dress, the black heels (which have a very thin heel and are incredibly difficult to walk in and she has knocked on wood, crossed herself, and rubbed her lucky rabbit's foot she keeps hidden in her nightstand drawer all in hopes of staying on her feet throughout the night.) She runs a hand down her stomach trying to settle the butterflies. It doesn't work. "If this is too much or something…" She trails off.

To her left, she sees the Red Sox baseball cap she left there a few days ago, hanging on the coat rack. Like it belongs there. And she wonders, not for the first time, if it really does. Does her lucky cap have a place next to a fancy blazer made by a designer she can't even pronounce?

She sees Bass in the background, puttering around in the kitchen. She looks passed him and sees the refrigerator. Maura has a magnetized notepad for groceries, and sometimes when Jane is off and Maura isn't she comes over and steals it to grab all of the things Maura has written down from the store, even the nasty crackers that taste like cardboard and air. They've never talked about it, but it never ceases to amaze her that dog food and beer and Lucky Charms somehow make the list.

And she knows if she were to open that cool metal door she would see a six pack of her favorite beer next to organic vegetables and everything-free Greek yogurt. Like it belongs there.

And maybe it does.

Maura blinks as words burst in her mind, words that could fill a music hall with their echoes. "You are gorgeous and the dress is perfect, Jane." Is what she settles on, though she wants to say more.

There is something in the way her name rolls off of Maura's tongue. Something in the way her lips twitch and her eyes sparkle. Maura knows all of her secrets. She does not have to hide or pretend to be something she's not.

That knowledge is difficult.

And she looks at Maura, really looks at her. And she wants to close the door behind her and never leave. She wants to bury her face in Maura's neck and inhale. Maura is gorgeous and beautiful and breathtaking and thought taking and she wants to kiss her best friend.

"Maura." She has spent so many nights alone in her apartment, alone in her bed, alone in her kitchen, just…alone debating this thought and _those _feelings she is too tired to fight them any longer, which is why she bought two tickets for the ballet thing Maura had been going on about wanting to see all week and asked her out on this date.

And the way Jane says her name makes her insides squirm in ways they hadn't in years. She knows she is safe here. (Here as in with Jane, not on the threshold of her home, though that too she supposes.) But she is safe. It is okay that she is falling, that she already fell. That it is endless, this falling.

She wants to kiss Jane. She wants to kiss her best friend and she smiles, because Jane is already leaning forward and it really doesn't matter that the kiss is supposed to come at the end of the night, because when have they ever played by the rules?

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**A/N: **Thanks for reading!


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